


A Fox of a Different Color

by Mipeltaja



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, One Shot, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27333946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mipeltaja/pseuds/Mipeltaja
Summary: Asric's supposed to be the young(er), hot(ter) one. He has a little crisis when he realizes this may not be the case forever.
Relationships: Asric/Jadaar (Warcraft)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	A Fox of a Different Color

“When did I become the old man in this relationship?”

Jadaar glanced up from the shirt he was mending to see Asric peering intently into the small, ornate mirror hanging on the wall of their shared rooms. The elf was hunched over a little, with his hands braced on either side of the mirror, and though Jadaar couldn’t be sure from this angle, the set of Asric’s shoulders suggested he was probably glaring at his reflection.

“You didn’t,” Jadaar said, returning to his task. “You’re younger than me by millennia.”

Asric whipped around, his eyes sparking. “You wouldn’t know it to look at us!” He stomped over, grabbed a strand of his hair and held it out in front of Jadaar’s face. “Here, see?”

Jadaar set his work aside and extended his hand to examine the lock being thrust at him. To his eye, it looked exactly the same as always, glossy and well-groomed. “What am I looking at?”

“I’m graying!” Asric wailed, as if that were cause for such histrionics.

But sure enough, now that he knew what he was looking for, Jadaar could indeed see a single strand of silver running through the otherwise auburn lock. He looked Asric in the eye, eyebrows raised in query.

Asric snatched his hair back. “I’m growing old and decrepit and I swear you haven’t aged _a day_ since I first met you! Chronological age be damned, I’m getting old in the sense that matters!”

“It’s one gray hair, Asric,” Jadaar said. “That hardly qualifies as ‘old and decrepit.’”

“Well, it’s not going to end there, is it?” Asric countered glumly. “There’ll be more, and before I know it I’ll be completely gray, if it doesn’t start falling out before that.” His eyes widened in dawning horror. “I could become indistinguishable from the wretched!”

“You have centuries to go yet, I’m sure,” Jadaar said, patting his arm. When this failed to soothe him, Jadaar cocked his head and studied the elf more closely. “You’re really upset by this. Is premature greying so uncommon among elves?”

“It’s not unheard of,” Asric huffed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s just... a reminder I didn’t need.”

"Of what?"

“Of what?” Asric parroted. His mouth hung open for a moment in what appeared to be genuine bafflement. “How about the fact that we are not evenly matched in terms of lifespan? You’ve already lived longer than I ever will, and odds are you’ll still be here when I’m not.” Looking miserable, he slumped down onto the bench, next to Jadaar. “I’m not used to feeling short-lived,” he added softly.

Jadaar put an arm around Asric’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “I hate to say this, Asric, but you knew all of that going in. We both did.”

“I did, but it felt so distant until now.” He sighed against Jadaar’s collarbone. “It didn’t feel _real_.”

Jadaar couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so he just held him, gently rubbing his back with one hand. They sat in silence for a small eternity, and Jadaar had begun to suspect Asric might have fallen asleep. But then Asric sucked in a sharp breath and pushed himself off Jadaar.

“Let me redo your braids,” he said. 

Jadaar blinked. “I’m perfectly capable of braiding my own hair.”

“I know. It’s supposed to be a nice gesture. Grooming each other. Bonding.”

The sudden change of subject had had Jadaar scrambling mentally, but now he saw the connection. “You’re not going to find any gray hairs,” he warned.

Asric’s shoulders tensed. “How can you be so sure? You can’t even see the back.”

Jadaar let out a resigned sigh. “Fine. If it will make you feel better.”

Asric wasted no time. He fetched a brush and a stool and seated himself behind Jadaar. He sat there for a beat, then spoke up again. “Actually, I think you’d better sit on the floor. I don’t want to tire out my arms reaching up the entire time.”

Jadaar grumbled, but complied, and Asric scooted forward on his stool. He set to work, undoing the braids with clever fingers and gathering all of Jadaar’s hair in the back to be brushed and inspected.

Jadaar resumed his stitching, and as the brush passed through his hair, reflected that the feeling was actually rather pleasant, especially combined with the way Asric’s fingers would occasionally brush against the back of his neck. Perhaps there was something to that ‘bonding’ excuse, after all.

He couldn’t resist needling Asric a little, however. “I thought a touch of gray hair was considered distinguishing among your people.”

“You’re thinking of humans,” Asric retorted, but without the bite Jadaar had expected.

“I always thought elves and humans were a lot alike.”

Asric snorted. “Compared to trolls, maybe.” Then, after a moment of silence, added: “Or draenei, I suppose.”

“But not in this?”

“No,” Asric said. “Not in this. Elderly elves are respected, but the hallmarks of age aren’t what inspires that respect.”

Jadaar hummed. He supposed it made sense for a race as concerned with outward appearance as the elves were to be touchy on the subject of aging. It mattered far less to draenei, who generally didn’t even bother keeping track of their exact ages past childhood.

Jadaar only noticed Asric had stopped brushing when a pair of hands grabbed him by the crest and tilted his head back until it was practically in Asric’s lap, whereupon he was treated to an upside-down view of a pouting elf.

“Not a single gray,” Asric said. “I don’t believe it.”

“I did tell you so.”

“Back on the bench,” Asric commanded. “I did say I’d rebraid it.”

Jadaar complied, climbing back onto the bench. Asric sectioned his hair, then moved to his front to do the braids.

“I suppose I’m just going to have to accept that you’ll be young and pretty -”

“Not _that_ young, and hardly pretty.”

“That you’ll be _comparatively youthful and not entirely repulsive to look at_ ,” Asric amended, “even when I’m a withered old man with all the charm of a corpse.”

Jadaar rested his chin on his knuckles. “You’re exaggerating, and you know it.”

“Perhaps.” Asric looped the last hair tie in place and stepped back to admire his handiwork.

“If it makes you feel any better,” said Jadaar, “with the world we live in, there’s a good chance we’ll both die violently long before reaching old age.”

Asric shoved him off the bench, but could not hide his smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Silverr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverr/pseuds/silverr) for the title of this work. I kept wanting to make a joke about silver foxes and couldn't settle on anything.
> 
> This thing's been sitting in my WIP folder for five years. Figured it was finally time to get it into presentable condition.


End file.
